As he was too great a man to be slighted by
a prudent publican, mine host respectfully paused until he should
deliver himself. The corpulent frame of this mighty burgher now
gave all the symptoms of a volcanic mountain on the point of an
eruption. First there was a certain heaving of the abdomen, not
unlike an earthquake; then was emitted a cloud of tobacco smoke
from that crater, his mouth; then there was a kind of rattle in the
throat, as if the idea were working its way up through a region of
phlegm; then there were several disjointed members of a sentence
thrown out, ending in a cough; at length his voice forced its way
into a slow, but absolute tone of a man who feels the weight of his
purse, if not of his ideas, every portion of his speech being
marked by a testy puff of tobacco smoke.
"Who talks of old Peter Stuyvesant's walking? (puff). Have people
no respect for persons? (puff--puff). Peter Stuyvesant knew better
what to do with his money than to bury it (puff). I know the
Stuyvesant family (puff), every one of them (puff); not a more
respectable family in the province (puff)--old standards (puff)--
warm householders (puff)--none of your upstarts (puff--puff--puff).
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